A Phone Call

It took Lee 8 days to call. 

By that time I’d heard from Lee’s parents (twice), my concerned cousin, my out-of-town friends . . . everyone but my own husband. 

In the bleary wasteland of my dreams I imagined that Lee loved me fiercely. He would miss me soon enough and call me day and night. Surely a man in love would do what was necessary to save his marriage, or at least retrieve his wife. 

My entire world had shifted in the blink of an eye. I went from being an autonomous married woman to being a dependent child in crisis. I would wander about the first floor of my mother’s house, not sure what to do or how I fit in to this new reality. There was no meal to prepare, no space to tidy, no one to take care of. Life was in limbo. Every thought I had was a plea, a prayer for God to soften Lee’s heart, because I could only go home if Lee agreed to save the marriage. Tears came spilling out of me whenever I forced myself to consider the possibility of divorce. Whatever happened would be Lee’s choice, and not having any control over the future of my marriage was killing me inside. 

Mostly I just missed Lee. I loved him with all my soul. 

Every day my stepfather would come home from work and ask, Did Lee call yet? I had to answer no each time and he would walk away grumbling, shaking his head, unable to comprehend Lee’s silence -- the same silence I’d lived through for two years. 

Lee’s photograph finally came up on Caller ID and I barely let the phone ring twice before answering. My hello was too quick, too desperate, my heart unbearably lonely after a mere week of separation.
 

Lee said nothing at all for a long time. 

I listened to him breathing on the other end, soft and calm. He cleared his throat a few times, the way he always did when the air was dry and hot. 

I just wanted to hear your voice, he said, and then explained in a roundabout way that he’d been thinking about the things I said in my e-mail. He sounded confused, unsure about what to say, and frankly admitted that he didn’t know what he wanted to do about our situation.

When I asked if he was willing to quit gaming and see a counselor, the answer was emphatically NO. For good measure he added, My feelings on the church haven’t changed, by the way. You should see how the people in our ward have been treating me since you left. 

He fell silent as I told him things I would have said in my missionary days: testimonies, like relationships, can be rekindled with effort and dedication. Both could be saved, and our marriage didn’t have to be over.

Lee quickly replied, You’re the one who started all this, you should be giving me reasons to take you back. 

Firmly I told him he was gravely mistaken, that I left for good reason and was not ashamed of what I’d done. I felt no need to beg my way back into his good graces. Not this time. 

There was a long and awkward silence. Lee mumbled a quick apology for his comment and said he would give it some more thought. 

I hung up empty and discouraged.

Back to waiting, and crying, and waiting. 

Waiting

My first week back in California was one long blur of distractions.

I unloaded the car and hung my clothes in the closet. Rearranged the furniture in mom's guest bedroom downstairs. Put a desk in there for my computer, assembled the wires, nestled Charlie's pink bed in the corner near my feet.

I dusted the shelves of the antique bookcase and put my few material posessions on them: one bottle of lotion, a perfume, pink and purple nail polish, a small bag of grandma's gold jewelry. I had taken the little sign from our front door in Salt Lake City. It said "America" in glittery blue and red letters, but now it just looked gaudy and out of place on the wooden shelf. Next to the sign a plaque with my old photograph on it, the one that proves I served an LDS mission from 2006-2008.

I took off my wedding ring and placed it next to the lotion and perfume. In hindsight I suppose this was a pessimistic gesture, but somehow it just seemed wrong to keep it on.

My left hand felt naked without it, bare and groundless like a ship without anchor. Days would pass and something would seem missing, then I would see my ring on the shelf and begin weeping again.
I opened a checking account at the bank around the corner, ran errands for mom, took the car in for a smog check. All the while I kept a close and careful watch on my phone, waiting for the moment when Lee would break his silence. Days had passed since leaving Salt Lake, and still he hadn't called or e-mailed me back.

I thought it was Lee each time the phone rang. The doorbell would chime, and it was his face I hoped to see when I opened the door.

Do you even miss me?

I was tempted to call him so many times, tempted to give in and say Sorry, don't know what I was thinking. But somewhere inside I knew we couldn't play the old games anymore. The old ways wouldn't do. Lee needed to take some of the responsibility, I knew that. So I waited.

Called friends, ran errands, kept busy. Broke into tears between the chaos, in the still and silent moments alone.

Waited, waited, waited.

A Letter to Lee

This post is a copy of my e-mail to Lee after I arrived in California:

 Dear Lee,

I'm sure by now you know that I've gone to California. There are many things to say.

I want to start off by thanking you for the note you left on my computer. That day was a very difficult, sad and emotional day for both of us. You said some things that were very sweet, and after reading it I broke down and cried for a long, long time. I love you, Lee. I love you, I love you, I love you..... more than I will ever be able to express to you. None of the words that I know seem good enough. I care for you deeply, Lee. I want you to know that leaving was the hardest, most heartbreaking thing I have ever done.

For three days I have thought long and hard about our marriage, and about how our differences were breaking us apart. Here are the things I know: we did not share household responsibilities equally, like partners. You like to have fun first and then work later -- the laid back approach. Meanwhile I have more of a "work first, play later" approach, and by default I ended up doing most of the household chores (cooking, cleaning, dishes, shopping) on my own because you were busy playing. I'm not saying that you never helped, because I know you did on occasion, but I feel that those times were few and far between. Please don't misunderstand me, Lee. I know you probably think I'm saying that you're a bad person, but this is NOT what I'm trying to say. You are NOT a bad person, Lee. We're just different, that's all.

I know we fought and discussed your gaming on many different occasions. I always felt like you gave the best of your time, energy, thought and talent to those games instead of to US and our marriage. You spent more effort trying to save the world in your cyber-reality than you did trying to be a real-life hero to me, your wife. Lee, I desperately needed you to be my hero and my partner. Again, please don't think I'm saying that you're bad. You're NOT bad. We're just SO different,  Lee. We have different life values. Perhaps other women out there don't care about gaming like I do, but for THIS woman and this marriage the gaming is a big problem that has steadily eaten away at our relationship.

The third big difference for us is our religious values. I remember having discussions with you not too long ago, about how I wanted us to progress together spiritually. I believe that a husband and wife should always be trying to come unto Christ together. Becoming more like the Savior is a goal that couples should be striving for together. I remember what you said about it. You told me that you don't think scripture study, prayers, or Temple attendance is important. I think you called it being "devout," and you looked me in the eye and said you didn't want to be devout. You've always told me that I'm the spiritual one in our relationship, as if my job was to be a spiritual rock all by myself. The problem with this in a marriage is that one partner grows spiritually while the other one doesn't, and instead of coming closer together the two partners end up growing farther apart. This is what has happened to us. You tell me all the time that you are not going to the Celestial Kingdom with me. Do you know how badly it hurts to hear that? All my life I have dreamed of having a forever marriage, and going to the Celestial Kingdom with my husband. I remember what you said when I asked you why you married me in the temple. You shrugged your shoulders and said that you were raised a Mormon, and Temple marriage just seemed like the thing you're supposed to do.

Again, this doesn't mean you are bad. You are good, Lee. So good. We just believe different things. We need different things. We hope for the different things. We want different things. Our differences are not complimentary, unfortunately. Sometimes yin and yang don't work. Our differences began driving us apart a long time ago, little bits at a time, until finally all we ever did was hurt each other. It made you very sad to see how unhappy and frustrated I was all the time. Sometimes I behaved very poorly, raising my voice and using words that were unkind. I know I hurt you, and for this I am so very, very sorry. Will you please forgive me? I hope you can forgive me.

In your note you asked me to forgive you. I've searched my heart, and I feel no anger or contempt towards you. I love you. There is nothing to forgive. Remember when you said we've reached an impasse? I finally saw that you were right. I left because I believe it was the right thing for both of us. I didn't want to hurt you any more, Lee. More than anything I just didn't want to hurt you anymore.

This is the part where I'm supposed to ask you to change, but I've decided not to ask. You already told me how you feel about change and I respect your decisions. Unfortunately our marriage needs a lot of change in order to be saved.

If you feel inclined to save it, please let me know and we'll go from there.

If not, I understand. I really do.

In your note you mentioned having vengeful thoughts. I know that feeling vengeful is how you prefer to deal with difficult situations. You must be feeling a great deal of grief and sorrow over this. I know I am. This morning I went out to the patio to read scriptures, and I came across a beautiful line in Mosiah 14:4 - "Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows..." I know that the Savior is aware of us. He knows who we are, and knows what we're going through. He has already carried our pain. He can help us through it if we let Him. Please, don't let this pain turn into vengeful thoughts or hatred. I don't want us to do ugly things to each other. Please forgive me for my part in this, and please know that I have no vengeful thoughts or animosity towards you. I want peace for you, Lee. You deserve that and more.

Please forgive my mother for calling your mother. I know you always felt like my mom didn't love you, but trust me, she does. She still thinks you are a wonderful, good person, and understands that you and I are just different. My mom cares very much about you, and was very concerned and worried for your safety. She called your mother because she didn't want you to be alone in all this. She didn't want you to harm yourself. That's all.

I don't regret the past either, Lee. There were many, many parts of our relationship that were good and beautiful. I wouldn't trade those moments for anything. I love you very much. There will always, always be a place in my heart for you.

Love,

Bethany